Alone. I feel alone sometimes waiting for a hand to come followed by some words... To reach me. But I know me. I'd probably cast aside any help cause I'm to prideful and I know that admitting this is a weakness. You see men don't cry but I yell... Sometimes. And in fear that my tears would leave a trail or that I'd send out prayers but receive nothing in the mail I stay and wait. I'd wait for the day that my pain, anger, and frustration would transform into insane stranger creations through my thoughts of what my life would be like if I chose differently in the beginning... Regret... See our Father created life with a thought of choice so when the time came for temptation you may escape without abrasions and rejoice in the fact that your voice had rose to the occasion and denied for a purpose... But my throat is sore from yelling so I say nothing... No, I just wait... I wait for a day when I don't have the decision, to make a decision, to make the incision on their hearts and so like a child's blanket I am their guard keeping them warm through the night with a false sense of security... Scared and alone I am. I'm a scribe to my own thoughts ironically I forget why I think the things that I do think of. . .